


Asylum

by Embleer_Frith0323



Series: Havens [3]
Category: DCU (Comics), Grayson (Comics)
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, Gay Sex, M/M, Male Slash, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Slightly Alternate Universe, Unexpected Roomies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-15
Updated: 2019-08-15
Packaged: 2020-09-01 16:15:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20260906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Embleer_Frith0323/pseuds/Embleer_Frith0323
Summary: Part 3 of Havens.





	Asylum

**Author's Note:**

> Oh, look! I wrote mooooaaaarrrr, mwa ha ha ha... and there is more to come. :D

Insistent, rapping light — silver and loud — along with a protracted rustling drew Tiger from a hectic slumber full of confused, abstract dreams. He shifted, opening his eyes, entering the here-and-now with a heavy, aching skull and too many hurts in his battered body to count. The numb, tingling feeling in his groin reminded him of the night before, and he sat up, noticing the bed beside him was empty. 

“Ah, morning, Sleeping Beauty — did I wake you up?” came Grayson’s cheerful voice, and Tiger turned in its direction. 

He shook his head, and having a better foothold on where he stood with his partner, leaned back to admire Dick’s shirtless physique. “Maybe — but I won’t argue. Occasionally your being completely shameless has its advantages.” 

Dick smiled at him, leaning down to drop a kiss on Tiger’s lips. “Good. Anyway, I’m just returning the favor — because I don’t know if you know? But you snore. A lot.” 

Tiger scowled. “Liar.” 

“Nope. You sawed yourself some logs alllllll night long, partner.” Dick lightly nudged Tiger’s hair. “How’re you feeling, by the way?” 

“Hmph.” Tiger crossed his arms, deliberately allowing his biceps to flex, and ignored Grayson’s question. “You get your face turned into a blimp and see if _you _can avoid sawing logs, idiot.” 

“I’ve already been accused of snoring — no need to reenact a dirigible.” Dick’s eyes sparkled, and Tiger smiled, as always immediately disarmed. 

“Anyway, I feel fine,” he continued. “A little like I got into a confrontation with a doubledecker bus last night, but otherwise, I’m… all gravy? As you Americans say?” 

Grayson nodded. “All gravy is most certainly a phrase. You want some coffee?” 

Tiger exhaled loudly. “I could destroy some — providing it’s strong enough.” 

Dick smiled over his shoulder on his way into the kitchenette. “I got you, Tig — I know you like that Turkish stuff.” 

“If you come anywhere close to it, I will give you one compliment.” 

“And there you spoil me, Tony,” Grayson said as he returned with a mug full of a black, heady brew — just how Tiger preferred a regular cup. He accepted the coffee, and thanking his partner, inhaled appreciatively. 

“Hm. You _do_ know what I like, Grayson,” he said. 

Dick beamed proudly as he returned to the business of getting dressed. “Yes, I do. Now. Compliment?” He jokingly pouted. 

“That _was _a compliment.” 

Grayson pouted even harder. “That was an observation.” 

Tiger groaned. “I’ll need several hours to consider something that isn’t embellished or a lie.” 

Grayson laughed. “Oh, whatever, you know you love me.” 

Tiger opted not to respond to that, not entirely sure now was the moment to start gushing his hormonal and still bewildered feelings. He inclined his head when he saw Dick securing a navy tie over a police uniform button-down. 

“Are those regimentals going to function as a guise for some undercover job?” Tiger asked. “You know you’re far too agreeable and overtly moral to pass for a cop in Blüdhaven, you softhearted idiot.” 

“Ah, _there’s _my compliment! You know my boss said the same thing when I first started out on the force back when?” Grayson said, grinning. 

“Which part, that you’re softhearted or an idiot?” 

“Well, both of those, too, actually, but… I was thinking more the agreeable and overtly moral part. Anyway — no undercover exploits to see here, I just got roped back into my old day job a few months ago. Apparently the BPD cut 65% of its workforce — again — so…” He shrugged. 

“_Khodaye man_, Grayson, haven’t you got enough on your plate as it is?” Tiger asked humorously. “Nightwinging, as you call it, mentoring that brother of yours, staying on call for the Justice League and the Great Bat of Gotham, gumshoeing like you are suddenly the entire Mystery Gang, leaping to my rescue when I go jumping off a cliff to escape some Court of Owls meat puppet — not to mention the odd circus performance, all that charity work, those public appearances with Bruce Wayne… When do you _sleep?”_

Grayson smiled and shrugged. “Next to never? Guess I’ll just have to sleep when I’m dead at this rate.” He sighed, sobering a bit. “The BPD needs the help, Tig. At least it’s not a permanent thing, anyway.” He finished up, and grabbed his kit where it lay on the floor by the nightstand. “Well, gotta go. Should be home theoretically around six, but it’s Blüdhaven, so who knows. Stay off your knee, okay?” 

Tiger nodded. “I’ll stay off my knee if you’ll be careful out there, Officer Grayson.” 

Dick gave him his waggish smile. “Not exactly in my vocab, but I’ll do my darnedest if that’s what it takes, Agent One. Help yourself to whatever, okay? Food and research included. What’s mine is yours.” 

The door closed behind him, and Tiger rested a moment, considering all that he’d heard. He didn’t wish to feel this way — _caring _meant _vulnerable,_ and as Grayson said, vulnerability was a luxury people like them couldn’t always afford — but he couldn’t halt this train of emotion any more than he could hope to stand in front of a barreling stampede of hooved, angry animals and have a prayer at stopping them. That aside, atop all else that transpired around him, adjusting to the shifted nature of his relationship with both Grayson and himself and worrying after his partner’s welfare pulled him thin and taut. He sighed, and passed a hand over his face. 

It wasn’t out of character for Tiger to feel so powerful and incendiary a guardianship over those he came to cherish, the scant and precious few that made their way through the protective walls he built around himself. But it had been some time since he last felt such a way, and Alia had shattered his heart along with the walls she’d torn down to reach it. She had done so knowingly, her betrayal speaking her alliances and priorities as brazenly and deafeningly as a nuclear blast. Even if she loved Tiger, even if she cared for Grayson — the fact was that neither man would surmount the importance of her work and affiliations, and nor would any other. Tiger had never felt such a fool, looking back on how he loved, trusted, and devoted himself to her, she whom he would gladly die for, and she who would just as quickly leave him in the trenches taking grenades after deceiving him. Never again, he had vowed — he would not again forget his nature, become too soft. He had _learned _from her selling him up the river. 

Yet here Tiger was, with his working partner first staking a claim inside his walls, and now setting up camp in his heart as his unexpected lover. He heaved a resigned, irritated sigh. 

He sat up a little, and sipped at his coffee. Dick, he knew on every level from intuition to concrete evidence, would never drive a knife into Tiger’s back, never lie to him to further his own agenda, never turn on him. His partner was loyal to those he loved and to all living beings — if it ever came down to his mission or a life, Grayson would sacrifice himself first. Richard holding his heart in his hands was not what gave Tiger an unusual but familiar fear. 

What _did _strike fear in Tiger’s suddenly full heart was now the possibility that such fullness could just as quickly be emptied. And with everything Dick had just told him, along with the intensifying situation at hand, that possibility grew more and more likely by the hour. Recalling his hallucination, the overpowering hammer of grief and the despair it brought — such things occurring in the real world hardly bore so much as the slightest consideration. 

At least there was plenty of work to be done, Tiger figured, and rather than allow his injuries to force him to sit idle and fret and watch the walls of Grayson’s trashed apartment, he decided to see to a handful of tasks and quiet his racing mind. Stay off his knee — he’d just as soon attempt to lasso the moon and prove it to be made of cheese. 

He rose, and limping, sifted through some of the scattered items on the ground — most of it clothing, junk mail, notebooks, papers. Just a myriad of things tossed to the nearest available space — namely the floor — transforming the entire dwelling into something of a “Deal with Later” pile. He turned up his belongings, these at least treated with care and respect, in the closet behind the fold-out doors that took up a wall of the bedroom nook. Further investigation turned up the treasure trove of Grayson’s Nightwing paraphernalia, all of this painstakingly organized, as well. Speaking of priorities. 

Tiger took some time to touch base with his agents and to gather what reports they had for him. So far, nothing much — but a handful of tidbits that warranted looking into. Contacting Bertinelli regarding one of the leads his agent gave him (this being hints of the Shadows’ involvement in the entire mess), he was given the confirmation that the information was legitimate, along with the admonition to rest his knee. 

“Six weeks on a brace,” she scoffed. “Just like Grayson to be grotesquely optimistic. You should stay off it for more like ten weeks and only hobble around on a brace when it’s absolutely necessary. Looks like you _will_ be playing roommates with your old partner for a while, Agent One — at least your investigation’s now based in Blüdhaven.” 

Tiger rolled his eyes as he hung up with Helena. If she only knew what that observation truly indicated… He stood, favoring his good leg as he studied his surroundings. 

First things first. Grayson had said he lacked the time to look after his apartment and equally the intention to hire a cleaning service. Well, what did Tiger have _other _than time at this point — and weeks of it? If he were going to do the roommate thing, he would be a good one, and that aside, how anyone could concentrate in such a pigsty was beyond him. Pride of place, it was better than sitting around worrying and chasing air. 

Decision made, Tiger turned up a brace in the bathroom closet, which in and of itself functioned as a mini drugstore. He checked the wrap, braced his knee, and then got to work. He started with the kitchen, afterward moving to the living area. When he came to the lone bookshelf by the window, intending to dust its surfaces, he paused, curious. He appraised the shelves’ contents, knowing that Dick didn’t always have the time or ability to quiet his restless mind and body long enough to focus on pleasure reading, but enjoyed books occasionally, normally when the beast _recuperation _reared its unwelcome head. There were plenty of more educational texts, alongside manuals and guides, that joined a smattering of classics, true crime novels, and suspense titles. A handful of _Star Wars _and _Dragonlance. _Unable to help himself, he smiled. 

Laundry followed. The writing desk came after, overloaded with papers that functioned as notes and research. Notebooks held handwritten jots, folders held photos and files, dossiers were scattered about its wooden service. Some of it belonged to Nightwing, some of it Officer Grayson. Tiger chuckled, amused. It was a superhuman feat that Dick got any work done at all, given that just finding a specific document required an act of God. Without peering too deeply into the files and information within, Tiger organized the desk and overflowing file cabinet beside. 

By the time Tiger had completed his labor on the apartment, it was nearing four in the afternoon, and his knee, wounds, and stomach all groused at him. Dick had left ibuprofen tablets handy for him, and after swallowing a few, he explored the pantry with greater focus. It yielded astoundingly little in the way of foodstuffs. 

“Grayson, _Inshallah,_ you will make it to the age of thirty, and by no other means,” Tiger sighed aloud, gazing at a half-emptied box of Frosted Flakes, and shook his head. He closed the pantry door and nabbed one of three bananas from the counter, unwilling to deplete Dick’s pathetic food stores any more than that. With his small boon, he sat at the little writing desk. Dick’s own work on the Court of Owls and Agent 39 was here, all of it waiting to be perused. Respecting the privacy of the other case files that he was not privy to, he dove into Grayson’s notes, comparing his partner’s findings to his own that he kept in files on the holographic device in his wristband. 

Dick was right in saying that none of the leads he’d uncovered were sound — all of them were flimsy and worn as old, cheap thread, and formed a map with not a single street intersecting. The owner of a furniture shop with zero apparent ties to any major crime player, a police officer without a mark on his record — a rarity in the Blüd — and a teenaged gas station attendant, yet somehow all of them had come up as tying into the Court? And now the Shadows were possibly involved. All that aside, the info provided by Nightwing’s CIs barely resembled the clues given by others he’d questioned, each story and hint given as different from one another as sheep and bicycles. The lone common denominator was the Court of Owls — which, Tiger knew, always shrouded itself in mystery and excelled in the art of the red herring. Even glancing at one of their intrigues was a peril. Both Grayson and Tiger would have to grow actual eyes in the backs of their heads. 

The door swung open sometime after the sun had canted in the sky, tugging Tiger out of his focus. He turned to see Dick as he stepped over the threshold out of the Blüdhaven gloom, a bag of takeout in his hand. 

“Whoah,” Grayson said upon his entry. He set the bag down on the coffee table. “Did a black hole pass through here and suck up all the mess on its way by?” 

Tiger snorted, turning in the swivel chair and leaning back. “Yes — a black hole in the form of Agent One.” 

Dick grinned. “Not gonna pretend I’m not insanely grateful, because trust me, I am — but weren’t you supposed to _rest _your knee?” 

“Well, I assumed you weren’t going to hire a maid, so rather than leave you to suffer in what was effectively a disaster area, I took it upon myself to force sanitation and relief on it.” 

“Meaning you cleaned my apartment.” 

“Yes. I cleaned your apartment.” 

Grayson laughed, kicked off his shoes, and fell atop the couch, loosening his tie. “That’s squaw work, y’know.” 

Tiger stood, and made his way over to Grayson. He placed his hands on the couch on either side of him, and lowered down. He ruminated a moment, just hovering over Dick unspeaking like this, studying his partner’s (gorgeous) face in the lamplight. He took in a breath, knowing that this would quickly become something of a _problem _— this swift, carnal response to Grayson, as immediate and complete as salivating at the sound of a bell. Normally, the notion of Dick lording it over him as Pavlov and Tiger assuming the place of his dog would not have sat well — except the flush in Grayson’s cheeks and already palpable interest in his slacks indicated that Tiger enjoyed quite the same role as Dick. 

“Hmm. I’ll show _you _squaw work,” Tiger said, satisfied, then closed his lips over his partner’s. 

Grayson readily laced his fingers in his lover’s hair as Tiger worked his way one-handed down the buttons of the BPD uniform shirt, each parting to reveal the undershirt beneath, the white material failing to conceal the outline of Dick’s perfectly defined abdominals. 

“Before we get this ball rolling, Tiger by rep on the streets _and _in the sheets —” Tiger groaned, even as Dick chortled gleefully, “how’s the knee, and how are your other war wounds holding up?” 

“They’re fine,” Tiger assured him. “Knee’s a bit swollen — but nothing to worry about. Now.” He scowled at him. “Kindly shut up, will you, please?” 

Dick smirked, and for one brief moment, cupped Tiger’s growing hardness. “Well. It’s not the only thing that’s swollen — and yes, sir. Shutting up now, as you command.” 

Tiger smirked in turn, and moved his lips to Grayson’s throat, tracing the delineation of his lover’s oblique with his fingers. Dick’s belt buckle and the fastening to his uniform trousers fell next under Tiger’s hand — then Tiger’s shirt was swept up his chest and over his head with two quick, nimble motions from his partner. It was only a few short, panting breaths before both found themselves naked, pressed to one another on Grayson’s sofa. Dick broke contact momentarily to fumble in the single drawer of the endtable and produce a bottle of lubricant. Tiger paused in stroking his lover’s erection, and with a light snort, shook his head. 

“So you don’t limit your cache to just your utility belt,” he murmured, covering Grayson’s lips with his own, pressing his tongue into his mouth. He drew away just enough to speak. “Cad.” 

“Well, like the old Bat once told me… always be prepared,” Dick said, grinning against Tiger’s lips. “I’m not convinced _this _is what he had in mind, but hey — his advice applies to just about every situation imaginable.” 

Tiger chuckled in a wry _harumph, _and kissed Grayson’s teeth, then the tip of his nose. He laid his cheek on Grayson’s forehead, concentrating his breathing when he felt the warmth of his partner’s touch, the heat sliding over his skin as he slicked up Tiger’s cock. 

He moved mindfully, penetrating his partner in a slow, gentle glide, not rushing, however the action of restraint maddened him. He locked his fingers in Dick’s shock of dark hair and his blue eyes with his own, sliding _home _with a feeling of deep-rooted, encompassing repletion. Grayson exhaled in a low, satisfied hum, his hips lifting and knees bracing Tiger’s waist as he received him. 

Was this really only the second time he had made love to this man, Tiger wondered in a befuddled mist of rippling pleasure, relishing the sensation of Grayson’s chest roving in smooth, unhindered, rhythmic passes beneath his own, the feeling of his skin, soft over the hardness of his pectorals. He took in the taste of Grayson’s lips, the touch of his tongue, the tickle of his breath. There was an impression of flawless synchronization in this dance — a perfect melding and symbiosis, so unmarred it seemed they’d been performing these steps together since the dawn of time. 

Dick laid a palm on Tiger’s chest, his hand vibrant and heated, the fingers abuzz with tangible energy. A moan exhaled from his slack lips, the outbreath mingling with Tiger’s. His back bowed, the grip of his free hand skimming Tiger’s hip to grasp his buttock, drawing him closer, demanding deeper, slower thrusts. It amazed Tiger, how willing Grayson was to open up to him like this — to take him in without the slightest hesitation or apparent fear. The knowledge that Dick could just as easily take the upper hand in a fight as he did _accepting_ Tiger filled him with a nameless emotion, something like euphoria, although whatever swelled in Tiger was quieter, gentler, more endurant and far-reaching than transient ecstasy. 

Grayson’s voice rose in timbre, little bursts of sound escaping his throat with increasing urgency, and with this building cadence, the pressure of his hands on Tiger’s chest and hip strengthened. Tiger smothered his mounting cries, opening his mouth over Dick’s, drinking in his reverberating intonations. He reached between their bodies, clasping Grayson’s cock in his grip, tugging vigorously with each thrust. He drew away, swallowing a breath, holding his lover’s gaze, before he kissed him again. 

A series of singing moments passed like this, both moving in tandem with one another, each hastening their rhythm in time, until Grayson’s neck arched, his chest swelling against Tiger’s. He moaned in a fraught, overwhelmed release, his fingers bruising Tiger’s skin as his hold clenched. Viscerally, Tiger sensed it — this climax in his partner, blooming, not quite breaking. Somehow, he was coming without ejaculating, a thin fluid dousing Tiger’s fingers as he worked Grayson’s cock. 

With his free hand, Tiger fisted a tress of Dick’s hair, pulling it, holding his gaze. “Are you —” 

“I’m — coming…” Grayson hissed, the words lost in a breathless cry, the peak shuddering through him in palpable, repeating waves. He lifted, and wrapped himself around Tiger, riding out the lengthy, powerful orgasm until the cum finally exploded all over his belly and chest, soaking Tiger’s hand and torso. 

Tiger slowed, loosening his fingers and resting his forehead against Grayson’s. He released him, giving his partner a moment to integrate, even if the feeling of Dick’s solid body licquescing in a pliant, relaxed tangle of limbs under him drove Tiger past the edge of crazy. This — here, now — this was the only time that Tiger had ever witnessed Grayson so utterly _wrecked, _all ounces of deliberate awareness gone, not a single defense in place. _Tiger _had done that to him, taken Dick to his limit and beyond, breaking that threshold with a bone-shattering push that Grayson himself had embraced. His own end threatened, pressing at the corners, begging to be let free. 

Grayson laid his hands on either side of Tiger’s face, his body loose and heavy, and kissed him. He spoke, his voice a soft, affectionate whisper. “Tiger.” 

For whatever reason, that did it. Tiger came so hard he went deaf, his ears popping in his skull, a fireworks display blinding his vision as the wracking tsunami of overpowering _feeling _crashed through him. He shouted his zenith into Grayson’s neck, every muscle drawn to a taut, straining plank until the last wave flowed through him. Slowly, reluctantly, it ebbed away with a razing, shaking pull, leaving the calf of Tiger’s good leg and the muscles of his arms knotted in dense webs of Charley horses. He fell atop Grayson, feverishly respiring, the sweat pouring from him to mingle with his lover’s. 

Quiet descended, the only sounds that of their breathing. The scent of them permeated the room, heady and musky. Tiger took in a breath, and let it go — the exhalation slow, languid, spent. 

“Wow,” Grayson murmured, and Tiger chuckled. 

“Yes.” Again, he exhaled. “Wow.” 

Another few moments of wordlessness passed, the quiet between them cozy and not unwelcome. Dick wrapped both arms around Tiger’s waist, leaning a bent leg against his. He turned his face into Tiger’s neck, and rested like that without speaking. 

This hitherto unseen side of Dick as his lover, Tiger ruminated, was not so simple as _new — _it was more curious, something that lit an interest within him and left him wanting to learn more about these unexplored territories in his partner. Dick was rarely quiet, always chattering about this and that, filling gaps of quiet with jokes or made-up tunes, thinking out loud. For that performer, all the world was indeed a stage, and he played to every audience that came his way — whatever that audience might have been. 

Dick as a lover didn’t _perform_ for him, Tiger found. Grayson stepped away from all stages, inviting Tiger to become a part of his unmasked world, much as he had that day in the cave. Dick could go from his customary verbose, rigorous, and passionate self to a version innately tranquil and gentle, each just as natural as the other, all exposing Richard’s essence for what it was. 

Moreover, Grayson was a cuddler, Tiger was learning to his endeared amusement — always seeking to be near him in some way since the ground they stood on together altered itself. And if Tiger said he didn’t relish it, he would have uttered a bald-faced lie. 

“So,” Dick said, by and by, breaking the quiet. “I hope you’re hungry — and I’m guessing you are, seeing as how I haven’t been to the grocery store since the Industrial Revolution — because I think I brought home the entire menu from Johny’s.” 

Tiger smiled. “Again. You know what I like.” 

Dick’s expression went a bit devilish. “Yes, I do,” he said, shifting to remind Tiger that he hadn’t yet withdrawn from him, “...obviously. And FYI, you still owe me a compliment for earlier.” 

“I’ll give you one when one comes to me,” Tiger promised, sliding from his partner, “which is likely to be at about the same time the sun enters its next stage of life.” 

Grayson pursed his lips. “Hmm. A couple billion years? That’s not so bad, I can wait.” He stretched under Tiger, then returned to his original position. “So… how about it, Tony — Johny’s, notes on the Court of Owls, and some more chill to round out the night?” 

Tiger readily agreed, sitting up to allow Dick to do the same, and they set to — to Tiger’s continued astonishment, every bit as at home with one another in this new dynamic as they had always been. 


End file.
